


of the healing kind

by dizzy



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: M/M, non-youtuber au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-03 22:21:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19473385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizzy/pseuds/dizzy
Summary: Dan's attending weekly painting classes with his mother, and meets Phil there.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [waveydnp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/waveydnp/gifts).



> happy birthday, sarah ♥

Dan hovers his brush over the orange, contemplating it - then almost shits his pants when a voice says right in his ear, "Orange is not a creative color." 

"The fuck?" Dan turns, ready to brandish his brush if he needs to. 

A pair of blue eyes blink back at him. "Sorry. Bad reference." 

"No, I get the reference," Dan says. "But personal space much?" 

"Oh." The man takes a step back. "Sorry." 

"Thanks," Dan mumbles, and turns back to his canvas. 

*

Dan's mum paints purple tulips in a green field. 

It's not the best. He tilts his head and stares at it. "Bit shit." 

She snorts, then quickly composes herself. "Rude." 

"You want me to be honest, don't you?" Dan asks, feigning wide eyes. 

"About a lot of things," she says. "Not my artistic skills. You can lie about that." 

"I see how these rules work. What about mine?" 

He's painted a candle on a table. The table is black and the background is gray. The flame is smudged in a way he just made worse when he tried to fix. 

"Bleak," she determines. 

"Like my soul." 

"None of that, now." She pats his arm and he hates the weird stab of disappointment he feels as he can tell that she's genuinely uncomfortable. 

He's here to try. Not to make her feel worse. "I'll do flowers next time." 

*

He's going to rinse his brushes off when he spots the guy that tried to talk to him earlier. He has no idea what's behind the urge that carries his feet over to the empty sink space beside him. 

"Don't hug me, I'm scared," he says. 

The man jumps, hand flying to his heart. "Oh my gosh, you scared me." 

"Payback," Dan says. 

"You didn't even jump when I did it to you!" 

"Yeah, because I'm dead inside." Dan might be trying to bite his tongue around his mum, but he owes nothing to this stranger. "But you didn't know that." 

The man hesitates a bit. He lets his hand drop and Dan can see a name tag that reads Phil. (His own name tag is stuck to the underside of the table. He doesn't particularly want or need to be on a first name basis with anyone here. "I really didn't mean to be creepy, though. Sometimes my depth perception is bad." 

"Sure," Dan says. Phil keeps staring at him, like he's waiting for something, so he adds, "It's fine." 

Apparently that's enough.

"I'm Phil!" Phil says, smiling widely. He holds a hand out to shake. 

"I know," Dan says. "You have paint on your fingers." 

Phil looks down at his hand. The yellow is still faintly gleaming like it's fresh. "Oh, how did that happen." 

"Actually." Dan looks closer. "You have paint all over you. What'd you do, mate, roll in it?" 

"Can I blame the depth perception again?" Phil asks. 

“That didn’t even work the first time.” 

A blonde shoves into Phil. “Stop flirting or we’re going to be late.” 

“I wasn’t-” Phil tries to protest, but his eyes flicker over to Dan. 

Dan just smirks. This situation is suddenly amusing, and maybe the implication that Phil might be the sort to flirt with a guy makes him a bit more _interesting_ … but Dan’s still a twat who isn’t going to help this guy out. “If that’s your idea of flirting, you’re bad at it.” 

Phil pouts. He’s got nice lips. “I wasn’t flirting.” 

“Yes, he was,” the blonde says.

She’s not wearing a name tag. Dan hopes it doesn’t look like he was checking her tits out when he looked. Nothing wrong with tits, really, it’s just not the way his river has been flowing lately. 

But tall guys with black hair and nice blue eyes… 

“Daniel?” His mum’s voice rings out. 

He doesn’t acknowledge it, just looks between Phil and his… friend? “Better get on, you’ll be late.” 

He turns without waiting for a response. 

*

Dan can't get the hang of watercolors. 

"Am I using too much water?" He asks his mum, leaning over like he can copy answers off her paper. 

"How should I know?" She whispers back. "I don't know what I'm doing any more than you do, love." 

Dan thinks that's an awful lie, because he can see how well the things are coming together for her. Neither of them having all that much natural artistic ability, not when it comes to things like this, but she still seems to have it together better than Dan does without even trying that hard. 

Maybe that's some life symbolism shit right there, he thinks. 

He looks to his other side, and somehow isn't surprised to see the guy from last week - Phil - standing there. The spot had been empty a few minutes ago, but he'd heard the rustling of someone coming in late while he was talking to his mum. 

"I know what you're doing wrong," Phil says. 

"I didn't ask you." 

"Daniel," his mum admonishes. "Don't be rude to a sweet young man offering you help." 

The 'sweet young man' is at least thirty, and beaming like a cat who got into the cream. "Why thank you, Mrs...?"

"Howell," she says. "But call me Karen." 

"Lovely to meet you, Karen. I'm Phil." They reach over Dan to shake hands. 

Of course he's a fucking mum-charmer. 

Dan hates guys like that.

(At least for the moment. His standard disclaimer in life is that his opinions are prone to changing approximately once every fifteen point seven minutes.) 

"Now," his mum says, with that look on her face like she's doing this solely to torture Dan and deriving absolute pleasure from it. "What is Daniel here doing wrong?" 

"Isn't there an instructor who is supposed to be the one telling me that?" Dan tries to interrupt. 

They're having none of it. "You've got to paint either when it's very wet or very dry," Phil says. "If you try to use a wet brush on a damp canvas, it turns into runs instead of shadows." 

Phil's painting partner pops her head around. "Just so you know, he's only the expert because we've done this class three times now." 

Phil glares at her. "Just so you know," he says, turning back to Dan. "We've only done this class three times now because Bryony fancies the instructor." 

The instructor is a tall, hippie looking woman with untamed curls and skin so dark it seems to glow. Dan can objectively understand why she might be a draw. 

"Yeah, Phil's a great wingman," she says. "He fucks it up so much that she spends a titload of extra time with us." 

"It's my natural gift," Phil says, effortlessly turning her attempt at a drag into praise he takes with graciousness. 

Dan's mum laughs softly behind them. Dan had almost forgotten she was there. "Well," he says, turning back to his canvas - which is definitely dried down to just damp in all the areas by now. "Time to show off your skills, because here she comes." 

*

His painting stays a disaster, no matter how much he tries to take into consideration the advice other people give him. 

Definitely some sort of metaphor. 

He's feeling that particular kind of drained by the time he clears up his station at the end of the lesson. He's relieved when his mum asks her if he can take care of her clean up as well. 

She's got an appointment and she's probably going to be late as it is. Dan's surprised she even came at all - or maybe he's not.

This whole thing, it's about them both making an effort, isn’t it? 

She hugs him goodbye and kisses his cheek. He hugs back briefly, feeling the awkwardness of such a display in front of so many other eyes. He tells himself they're all in their own worlds, no one is paying attention to him. 

But when he looks up he sees Phil watching them with a little smile on his face. 

* 

"Your mum is nice," Phil says. 

They're side by side at the brush station, rinsing colors down the drain. 

This might actually be Dan's favorite part. There's something cathartic about watching the bristles come clean and return back to their normal colors. 

"Yeah," Dan says. 

Phil's friend has already left, finishing her wash in a hurry and punching Phil in the arm goodbye. She hadn't said anything to Dan, and he was fine with that. 

Phil tries again. "It's nice that you're doing this with her." 

Dan shrugs. "I guess." 

There's a long pause. 

"Do you want me to leave you alone?" Phil finally says. 

Dan looks up and meets Phil's gaze. They hold the look for too many seconds to be entirely normal. 

There's no lightning strike moment. There aren't sparks are fireworks. 

They're just very nice eyes, and Dan is struck with a moment of weakness. 

"No," Dan says. "Do you like burritos? I really fancy a burrito." 

*

Phil, it turns out, does very much like burritos. 

He also likes getting his dick sucked while he sits on Dan's sofa. 

*

Dan's jaw aches slightly and Phil sits heavy on his tongue, softening to the faint suction of Dan's mouth still working on him. 

Dan's always liked this so much. Just - everything about it. The taste, the feeling, the strength of it. A man's hands in his hair, guiding and urging him. Feeling someone lose control. 

He pulls back and looks up. That's satisfying, too; the face of a man he's just wrecked with his mouth. 

Phil whines when Dan pulls off. His head drops back against the sofa, legs still spread in an unashamed display. 

"You dye your hair," Dan says, voice raspy, as he stares at Phil's pubes. 

Phil chokes on a laugh. "Um. Yeah." 

"Hm." Dan's eyes flicker back up. "Looks good on you." 

"Thanks. Your... everything... looks good on you." Phil finally moves his hand. 

Dan takes that as his cue to lean back, stretching his arms over his head. He's hard, but it's not an urgent thing; he wanted to give more than take. Not every time, but this time. 

When he opens his eyes again Phil is still staring at him. It starts to make Dan uncomfortable. "You don't blink, do you?" 

As if just remembering that's a thing human people do, Phil blinks a few times. "I do. Just not as much as other people." 

He makes no move to tuck himself away or pull his pants and jeans up from where they're pushed down around his ankles. Dan likes room to work. 

He stands up, knees popping. "Weirdo." 

He must not sound like he means it all that much, because Phil just laughs. "Yeah. Guess I am." 

*

Phil leaves half an hour later, after hovering around and asking Dan a few times if he didn't want something in return. 

Dan wanks as soon as he's out the door, sitting in the same spot on the sofa that Phil's bare ass was, replaying it over and over in his head until he spills against his fingers.


	2. Chapter 2

Dan doesn't often make a habit of sleeping with guys he'll actually have to see again, and he's remembering keenly why as he steps foot into painting class the next Wednesday. 

He's already spent all morning working this up in his head. Will Phil be weird about it? Will it be awkward? Will he have told his friend? Will Dan's mum catch on? 

He almost cancels, but he's trying to do this whole functional person thing he hears works out so well for other people, so he puts one foot in front of the other and makes his way to the small studio where the classes take place. 

*

Phil's already there when Dan walks in, his friend at his side. 

Dan's mum is there, too. She's talking with Phil and Bryony, chatting and laughing in a soft way that rises above the other noises of the room on power of familiarity alone. 

"There you are," she says to Dan, smiling at him. 

They haven't spoken in the week since the last class. Dan should have called her; he could have, he knows. 

But it feels easier to take small steps sometimes. It feels comforting to retreat back into himself. 

He returns her hug briefly, then bites the bullet and looks over at Phil. 

Phil just gives him a casual, friendly smile and a wave and turns back to Bryony. 

He tries to tell himself he's just fine with that. 

*

Pastels are not his color palette. 

"Have you spoken with your brother recently?" His mum asks, busy doing some sort of peaceful sunset scene. 

Dan's canvas is still blank. 

That's just how his mind feels today. Blank. Everything is blank. 

He puts the green in his hand down and rubs at his eyes with his palms. He feels like he should have a headache but there's an absence of pain, along with the absence of everything else. 

"No," he says, remembering he's been asked a question. "How is he?" 

Does he even care? It's not like his brother has fuck all to do with his life. Dan was out of the house before Adrian was even really a teenager and they've continued on their adult lives as strangers who twice a year happen to be in the same home for a meal. 

She starts to talk about the latest trip he's planning to go on, something about mountains and running trails. He stops listening after a few words, nodding along when the cadence of her words seem to call for it but registering nothing of the details. 

He picks the black and starts to swipe streaks over the page just to have something there when the instructor comes around. 

*

His mum excuses herself off to the toilets and Dan drops the pretense of trying. 

"Here," Phil says, reaching over Dan. 

Dan jumps. He hadn't even noticed Phil there. "What are you doing?"

"Helping," Phil says, He takes the yellow and draws a semi circle in the middle of the page. 

"How is that helping?" 

"I'm drawing the moon." He puts yellow down and goes over it with the white. "Now it looks like the moon over water at night." 

Dan goes quiet as he stares at his canvas, realizing that Phil isn't wrong. His black streaks actually do look like water. He picks up the blue and starts to add it in, then layers it with some white. 

It's not a good painting. No one would mistake him for having talent. But it's something in the place where nothing was, and he suddenly finds that satisfying in a way he hadn't known he needed. 

"Thanks," he says. 

Phil's already gone back to his own canvas, but the way he smiles tells Dan that Phil heard him. 

*

"Daniel," his mum says, her voice cutting through the fog. "Did you hear me?" 

"Oh, what?" He asks. 

She's exasperated. "I said your Nana wants you to come home for your granddad's birthday party this weekend." 

"I can't," Dan says. 

The disappointment resonates clearly on her face. "It's important to us." 

"I'm busy." It's a lie. She knows it. 

Her mouth flattens into a line. "Fine," she says, and he feels smacked down just from that one word. 

He just - can't. 

Every time he thinks of his grandmother he just remembers her crying at the kitchen table. 

He can't. 

*

"Hi," Phil says quietly at the washing up station. 

Dan's mum has already left. She hadn't even said goodbye. 

She'll probably ring him later. He'll make himself answer the phone. He can do that for her, at least. 

"Hey," Dan says. 

He feels exhausted. This day has just... exhausted him. 

"Do you like coffee?" Phil asks. 

Dan thinks of last week, of the lunch he barely remembers eating, of the blowjob he recalls much more clearly. 

Maybe he should let Phil return the favor. 

*

The thing is - Phil actually does want coffee. 

"This alright?" He asks, maybe noting the surprise on Dan's face when they stop in front of Starbucks, or maybe just checking to see if Dan approves to the specific location. 

"Yeah," Dan says. "It's good." 

"What do you want?" Phil asks. "My treat." 

"I. Um." Words are hard. "Green tea latte." 

Phil scrunches his face up. "Ew." 

"Are you judging my coffee order?" Dan asks. 

"Yes, absolutely," Phil says. 

"What's yours, then?" 

"Caramel macchiato with whipped cream and chocolate drizzle." 

"So like, sugar with a faint hint of coffee? And you're judging me? Mate." 

Phil grins at him, completely unbothered by Dan's lack of approval. "Go sit." 

Dan finds the table with the most distance from any other human beings and lets his body sink into the soft cushions of a rounded bench. He's taking up a space meant for half a dozen people, but he doesn't rightly give a fuck. 

He checks twitter on his phone while he waits for Phil, then looks up in surprise as Phil puts down two drinks and a slice of some sort of spiced bread between them. 

"It's for us to share," Phil says. "I thought it looked good." 

He tears off a corner piece and pops it into his mouth. 

"Verdict?" Dan asks. 

Phil lets out a happy noise. "Definitely good. Have some." 

Dan takes a bit. It is good, as good as a slice of bread probably mass-produced and frozen only to be thawed out and reheated on demand. 

Not that he's a food snob or anything. He orders pizza at least twice a week, he doesn't get to claim any culinary superiority. 

"You didn't like class today," Phil says, after the silence lapses longer than a minute or two. 

Dan shrugs. "Not really." 

"I think you'll like next week." 

Dan suddenly remembers that Phil's been through the class before. "What is it?" 

"Spoilers," Phil admonishes. Then he laughs. "Just kidding. It's on the program, you should have gotten it emailed? Or seen it on the website." 

"I didn't look," Dan says. "My mum made all the arrangements." 

"That's nice. I'd do stuff like that with my mum if she lived near here. Are you close with yours?" 

Dan laughs bitterly. "Um." 

Phil studies him in a way that makes Dan feel slightly too seen. "Alright then," he says in a soft voice, then changes the subject. "It's abstract." 

"Abstract?" Dan asks. "Like, what?" 

"Like, whatever," Phil says. "You'll see. It's my favorite." 

"And you think we're gonna have the same favorite?" 

Phil smiles at him. "Yeah, actually. I think we will." 

*

Dan's not sure where the hours go but suddenly the sun is dropping below the London skyline and his stomach is growling, unsatisfied with half a piece of cake that's been in crumbs for two hours now. 

It's been mostly Phil talking. Dan's heard so many stories; most of them absolutely inconsequential, and yet somehow he's felt himself drawn into the narrative of every one. 

"And the squirrel friggin' bit me!" Phil's saying. "Right on the finger!" 

"Florida sounds dangerous," Dan says. "Don't think I ever want to go." 

Phil shakes his head immediately. "No, it's amazing. You should go one day. My parents have a timeshare there, so we go at least twice a year." 

He wants to comment on how rich Phil's parents must be, but he does know tact once in a while. "Must be nice." 

"It is." Phil glances out the window. "I think it's going to rain." 

"Oh." Dan can hear it suddenly, the low rumble of thunder. "You need to go?" 

"I think so." Phil gives him an apologetic look. "I have dinner plans." 

"Hot date?" Dan asks, blurting it out. 

Fuck, he's stupid sometimes. Or at the very least, awfully bad at playing it cool. Especially with people he's told himself he doesn't even want to date. 

Which is everyone. Dating just hasn't seemed like a good idea lately. Too much other shit up in flames in his life. Wouldn't help to add a anything more complicated that he’d inevitably steer right into a messy crash landing to that. 

But Phil doesn't let Dan off the hook. He just smiles widely, like he's so incredibly pleased about Dan answering. "Meeting my brother and his girlfriend out, so that's a resounding no." 

"Oh." Dan tries to project an attitude of not really caring. "Well, I should go too, I guess." 

Dan definitely, absolutely isn't hoping that Phil asks for his number. 

Phil doesn't. Instead he just stands up from his chair and says, "I'll see you next Wednesday?" 

Dan swallows the disappointment. "Guess so." 

*

He rings his mum when he gets home. 

She answers by the third one, sounding frazzled. "Dan?" 

"Yeah," Dan says. He stretches out on his sofa, one leg dangling over the edge. "I can't come to granddad's party." 

She sighs. "Alright." 

His voice is much quieter when he speaks next. "Tell Nana I'm sorry." 

The words hurt to get out. "Alright," she says again, syllables softened to match. "I'll let her know." 

They talk for a few more minutes, just long enough for the tentative truce they've built to feel reinforced. 

When Dan hangs up he looks down at his phone. He's startled to see a text message there from a number he doesn't recognize. It reads: _green tea latte is still a boring coffee order but i forgive you_


	3. Chapter 3

Dan dreams in seafoam green and orange swirls, feet heavy like the ground beneath him sticks to the soles of his feet with every step. 

He wakes breathless and panting at four in the morning. His sleep schedule has never been that kind to him. He's used to waking with heaviness in his limbs and making it through the long stretch of hours that make up the daytime feeling like he's teetering on the edge of something like true exhaustion. 

He can feel the headache thrumming at his temples already as he lies beneath the sheets. Is it worth it to try to sleep again? 

No, he decides, and throws off the duvet. 

*

He sits on his deck and watches the sun rise with his phone in his hand. 

There's a text message he hasn't responded to. It's hard to describe why, even to himself. 

The closest he can come is just to acknowledge that he likes the feeling of potential unmarred by reality. 

*

Phil's right. 

Dan does like the abstract painting. 

He's almost mad how right Phil was. 

Phil can tell, too. He's all wide smiles as soon as he sees Dan dribbling paint on the canvas. 

He doesn't seem put out at all that Dan never answered his text. Dan doesn't want to admit how much of the morning he'd spent thinking about it, whether Phil would ignore him or be cross, how Phil got his number in the first place, what he should have said in response, what Phil might have said back to that. 

He spun entire daydream worlds in his mind while he waited for the dull work day hours to pass, and now he's here and in the flesh and it's surreal how nothing seems to happen at all. 

*

They have an array of tools to pick from. 

Phil goes for the fan brush. 

"What do you think?" Dan asks, glancing over at him as they stand at the supply table. 

"For you?" Phil asks. He steps in closer, shoulder brushing Dan's. "Go for the scrape-y one." 

"Scrape-y one?" Dan smirks. "Official name?" 

"Of course," Phil says. "I'm an expert. Basically a professional artist now. You'll be in the Louvre by Tuesday next." 

Dan snorts, and it's timed with Bryony walking up. "Break it up, boys, we're in public." 

Phil reaches out and swipes the tip of his dry fan brush over her nose, making her sputter and step back. 

*

There are no rules to this, and maybe that's what Dan likes about it so much. 

There's no goal he can fail to meet. There's no aim he can wander too far in the opposite direction from. No one will look at this and tell him that they know he tried his best, it's just not quite good enough. 

Dan's mum does a rainbow of smears and stippled presses of paint. 

His mum is a smart lady. Dan's sure there's symbolism there. 

Dan covers his canvas with black and uses the scraper on a metallic silver paint. He leaves uneven slashes of paint across the surface, watching the black consume some of the brightness, but appreciating the way what's left sparkles in the light. 

*

Phil's painting makes no sense at all.

It's blue and green and yellow and red and orange. They muddy together in spots and make something more like brown, but Phil just laughs and says, "Oops." 

To his other side, Bryony's is a patterned picture of purple and blue synchronicity. Dan thinks it's not nearly as abstract as they were instructed to make, but when the teacher comes by she leans in close to Bryony and starts talking to her about symbolism and balance. 

Phil steps in closer to Dan, probably just to give Bryony some time with her crush. 

"That looks lovely, Karen," Phil says, smiling over Dan to Dan's mum. 

"Thank you. Your's is - bright." Karen tries to be diplomatic. 

"I'm awful at painting," Phil says, very matter of factly. "Which is funny, since I got an A for my GSCE in Art." 

"Was your teacher blind?" Dan asks. 

His mum slaps him on the arm. "Rude!" 

Phil openly laughs, covering his mouth with his hand. 

Dan even more openly glares. 

The painting instructor steps in between them, done with Bryony and ready to move on to Phil, who gives one more little glance over at Dan before giving his attention to her. 

Dan doesn't realize he's still smiling until he catches his mum staring at him with a soft look on her face. 

*

Dan's mum hands him all her brushes at the end of the class. 

"What am I?" Dan asks. "Your slave?" 

"Yes, I think legally so, since I did birth you and all." She slides her arms into her coat. "Better go on, he's waiting for you." 

Dan looks over and finds that Phil's already at the sinks, an empty spot beside him. 

*

Dan rubs his fingers down the cool metal edge of the scrape-y thing, pushing the paint that's half dried there. It comes off in chunks that splat onto the porcelain. 

Phil's got more brushes than Dan can comprehend one person using. He's going to give Phil some credit there and assume some of them are Bryony's. 

Maybe they both take a bit longer than they need to. They're just being very helpful and thorough students, that's all. 

When they dry their hands on the cloths provided and step away to let someone else take a turn, Phil looks at Dan. "Coffee?" 

"I'm still not trying your sugar juice," Dan says. 

Phil laughs. 

*

Phil does not, in fact, take him to get coffee. 

Instead he takes Dan home, right to Phil's flat. They walk up a narrow flight of stairs, through a door and into a lounge too-full of plants and boldly colored art on the walls.

"I can make you some, if you were really expecting-" Phil starts, somewhere between teasing and apologetic, when Dan points out that this doesn't look very much like Starbucks. 

Dan hooks his fingers into Phil's belt loops and hauls him close as he shakes his head. Phi smells good this close up, faintly of paint from the studio but nicer, cleaner underneath that. "Maybe after."

*

He does let Phil return the favor this time, and as he stares down at the top of Phil’s head and the shape of Phil’s mouth working around him, as he feels the heat and suction and tilts his head back hard into the pillow, he’s very glad he did. 

*

"How'd you even get my number?" Dan asks, after. 

He feels fairly decimated, heart still pounding and body sweating in all the good places. His face is probably red but he can't be bothered to care. 

Phil laughs. "Bryony asked your mum for it." 

"Wow." Dan's not sure if he's pissed off or just in awe of that cunning. "So she's trying to return the wingman favor?" 

Phil shrugs and rolls over, reaching for something on the bedside table. He's long and lean and his back is dotted with freckles and Dan's not even horny anymore, he's just... appreciating. 

"Why didn't you text me back?" Phil asks. 

"I don't know." Honesty is the best policy. Probably doesn't help Phil much, either. "Why did you text me in the first place?" 

"Because," Phil says, straightening up. "You're fit, and I had fun talking to you last week. And - not talking, before that." 

Dan laughs. "What can I say? My oral skills are a personal strength." 

"No argument there." Phil holds his phone right up. Dan's not prepared for the click of a phone camera going off. He keeps talking as though he didn’t do anything. “I did think maybe your mum had given Bryony a fake number. And then I started to think, what if she told you there was a weirdo in the painting class whose best friend was trying to stalk you, and maybe you just wouldn’t show back up at all-

"First of all, what the fuck?" He interrupts, still blinking at the flash. "Second of all, what kind of monster has their sound on full volume? And tries to take a creeper shot with a flash?" 

"Me," Phil says. "I wasn't trying to take a creeper shot, anyway! I held my phone right up. You just weren't looking." 

"Why?" Dan asks, sounding more exasperated than he really is. 

Phil turns his phone over to show Dan where he's just loaded the picture into Dan's contact profile. It's awful, of course. "You can take one of me if you want." 

"I'll pass," Dan says, just to be stubborn. 

He's not really sure why he does that. It just feels safer to say no. His therapist would probably have words for it, the way he guards himself against even things he might like. Some shit about how he punishes himself or can't let people in.

What does she know. She's only got like, four degrees. 

"Are you hungry?" Phil asks, leaning back against his pillows. The cases are shades of blue and green. 

Phil has a nice flat. He probably has a nice job, too. 

Nicer than Dan's. 

He goes too long without answering. Phil's giving him one of those curious looks again. 

Dan hates whatever he must be giving away on his face right now. He doesn't usually get weird after sex. But then again, people don't usually bring up his mum right after sex. 

Also, his mum isn't usually the indirect cause of the sex he just had - and that's a thought to toss right onto the reject pile. 

"How do you feel about pizza?" Phil asks, looking down at his phone. He loads up the Dominos app. 

"Yeah," Dan says, finally finding his voice. He won't stay all night. Just... just for a little while longer. "Pizza's good."


	4. Chapter 4

Dan thinks he should probably listen more to the instructor as she talks about the rich history of oil painting and gives them a Sparknotes version of all the various tools and techniques. 

But paying attention has never been his strongest suit, and Phil's look far too nice in the black t-shirt he's wearing. 

(Dan's seen those arms bare and straining over his body. He's pressed his face into the naked skin of that shoulder. He's felt those lips panting hot against his jaw.) 

He's got glasses on, too - Dan's not seen those before. 

Maybe he would have, if he'd stayed over when Phil asked him to. Or if he'd texted Phil to see if he was busy and of the dozen times it crossed his mind over the past week. 

But Dan's bravery comes in moments of pure impulse or it doesn't come at all, and impulse has burned him far too much too recently for him to let that carry him away. 

"Ow," he hisses suddenly, hopping slightly backwards. "Did you just step on my foot?" 

His mum stares straight ahead, a hint of a smile on her face. "Pay attention." 

*

He paints a sunrise over water. 

He can see that Phil keeps looking over at his canvas. 

"What?" He finally says. 

"That's like the third sunrise you've done," he says. "Do you really like them?" 

Dan shrugs. "Just see a lot of them." 

"Oh," Phil says, sympathetically. "Insomnia?"

He knows his mum is probably listening in. 

Maybe he's not talking just to Phil. Maybe that's not the worst thing. 

"Yeah," he says. "Had it for a while. Probably a side effect of my anti-depressant." 

"Oh, yeah." Phil makes a face. "I take something for anxiety, but I hear they're pretty similar in side effects sometimes. At least you know you don't have... some of them." 

Dan opens his mouth to ask what Phil's talking about and then he catches Phil's ever so slightly devious smirk and his teeth click together with the force of biting back his words. 

Yeah, his mum definitely doesn't need to know that Phil has firsthand knowledge of Dan's lack of trouble with sexual performance. 

*

"I'm free this afternoon," his mum says, toward the end of class. "Would you like to get lunch?" 

Dan's stomach lurches with disappointment. He'd really been hoping Phil wanted to to get coffee... or _coffee_... again. 

But he knows she's still disappointed he won't come home for the birthday party, and he just - he's tired of saying no to people when they want to love him. 

"Lovely," she says, smiling that genuine smile. Then she leans right over Dan and says, "Phil, would you care to join us?" 

Nice to know there is actual, pure evil embedded in his genetics. 

*

She does invite Bryony as well, but Bryony has to get back to the office. 

Phil look to Dan carefully before he says yes, but Dan only shrugs and smiles just enough for Phil to know it's okay. 

Maybe that's the moment where Dan realizes how fucked he is. Considerate people are a weakness of his.

*

They go to a small French bistro where Karen announces immediately that the meal is on her as long as they forgive an old woman her midday glass of wine. 

"For one thing, you're not old," Dan says. "For another thing, you're in better shape than I am, so I don't think the wine is going to hurt you." 

"You're definitely not old," Phil agrees. 

"Oh, you boys are good for the ego," she says, half-way distracted as she checks her phone. 

Dan starts to pick at the napkin in front of him, trying to avoid direct eye contact with Phil until the waiter arrives. 

Phil gets something with pork. 

Dan gets an artichoke risotto that makes his mum roll her eyes. "Still on that vegan thing, then?" 

"Yeah," Dan says, then catches Phil raising an eyebrow. He relents. "Well, sometimes." 

"Sometimes?" His mum asks. 

"I mean, can't resist a good pizza now and then." He acknowledges it so pointedly that he's sure his mum looks between them. 

If she asks later he'll just say they've had dinner together. 

He won't say they had it naked in Phil's bed. 

He may be trying to open up, but she doesn't need to know everything. 

*

Phil works for a company that does video editing. He says it's boring but his mum asks a lot of questions anyway, and they work out that one of the companies Phil does training video edits for is also one of Dan's mum's clients. 

It's the sort of connection that Dan thinks is entirely pointless. Phil's never been to the actual business, he doesn't know any of the people. Dan's mum has absolutely nothing to do with sexual harassment and work safety videos. But they both seem delighted by the commonality and Dan just eats his risotto and enjoys the vaguely comforting feeling he gets from the sound of their voices mixing and carrying in the air around them. 

*

Karen leaves to catch the train home, dropping enough cash on the table to cover the bill and a bit extra. "Have another glass on me," she says, leaning over to kiss the top of Dan's head. 

"It's all on you," Dan points out. 

She pinches his arm. "You're meant to say thank you. Who raised you?"

Dan thinks of his grandmother, even though he knows that's not what she means at all, and it makes his heart sink a bit. "Wolves," he says instead.

"Oh, that's funny," Phil breaks in. "My mum says I was raised by them, too. I wonder if we're from neighboring packs?"

Karen laughs and slides her purse onto her shoulder. "It was lovely to get to know you a bit better, Phil. I'll see you next week in class?" 

"I'll be there!" Phil says, smiling widely. 

*

"Neighboring wolf packs?" Dan asks. "What are you, some kind of furry?" 

Phil's smile is just deliberate enough to be creepy. 

"You are fucking not," Dan protests. 

Phil laughs. "Sorry. That's more like third date information." 

The d-word catches Dan off guard. 

Maybe Phil can sense it, because he doesn't wait for Dan to respond, just plows ahead. 

"I could use a coffee more than wine, I think. You interested?" 

He's just spooked enough to think maybe he should leave, but... 

Fuck it. Maybe the impulse can win just this once. 

"Yeah." Dan swallows back the last drink of dry wine in his glass and then stands up. "Let's go." 

*

He doesn't ask if burritos count as a date. 

He doesn't ask if coffee counts as a date. 

He doesn't ask if pizza in bed counts as a date. 

He doesn't ask if lunch with a parent counts as a date. 

But... he's thinking all of the questions anyway. 

*

Same coffee shop, same back table. 

"Your mum really is nice," Phil says. "It's nice that you've got such a good relationship with her." 

Dan laughs. He genuinely can't help it. 

"What?" Phil asks. 

"I don't," Dan admits. 

"Don't what?" 

"Have a good relationship with her." Dan swallows coffee that's a bit too bitter. "Or with anyone in my family." 

"Oh." Phil's eyebrows knit together in confusion. "But you seem to get on so well." 

"Yeah, it's..." Dan shrugs. "A long story." 

"I might have time," Phil says. "If you want to tell it?"

Dan looks at the table. "Maybe it's not that long after all. Just, you know." He waves a hand around. "Had your typical mental breakdown at a really inopportune moment."

The words run dry. Even that feels like a lot. 

He keeps staring at the table. Really fascinating fake wood grain there. Definitely worth all of his attention. 

At least until he feels Phil's foot nudge his. It's... nice. It's nice in the way all the reaching out Phil's already done is nice. 

"Alright," he says. 

"How are you so-" Dan shakes his head a bit, exasperated but not really. "Patient? Nice? I dunno. How, though?" 

Phil laughs. "Is it awful if I say you're just like, really fit? Looking at your face some more is a good motivation." 

"Sounds fake, but okay." 

"Hey, shut up," Phil says, this time kicking with more purpose. "It's true. Anyway, I'm not a patient person at all, really. No one would say that about me. I'm just afraid of scaring you off." 

"Oh." Dan takes a moment just to steep his heart in the warmth that builds from hearing Phil say that. "Don't be." 

"Don't be what?" Phil asks. 

Dan thinks he knows. But he can't blame Phil if Phil just wants to hear it. 

He nudges his foot back against Phil's. "Don't be afraid of that."

*

Phil walks Dan to his flat, but stops at the steps. 

"You're not coming up?" Dan asks, knowing his voice gives away every ounce of his disappointment. 

"I can't." Phil is apologetic. "I'm meeting my brother." 

"Oh." Dan doesn't handle disappointment that well. He can feel himself starting to withdraw. 

"Can I..." Phil starts, voice shy in a way that reels Dan right back in. 

"Can you what?" 

"Kiss you," Phil says. 

They're standing on a busy London street but Phil's eyes are very, very blue, and Dan is very weak for that. 

"You've already done way more than kiss me, mate." Dan tries to joke. It makes Phil frown, and Dan doesn't like that. 

So he leans forward and cups Phil's cheek and plants a kiss right on Phi's suddenly smiling mouth.


	5. Chapter 5

Dan isn't, as a rule, a fan of going out. 

He likes his dark cave of a flat. He likes music he gets to choose. He likes it when no one else is around to talk to him. 

He hates the mandatory monthly work outings that always end up in a restaurant packed too full of people with a live band playing and Cynthia from Accounting drunk by her third margarita. 

He mulls his way through it mostly by thinking of Phil, and how many days there are until next Wednesday, and how he could probably see Phil before then if he wanted to pick up his phone and text. 

*

There's a guy that works in IT that Dan hooked up with over a year ago. The sex was alright enough but all Dan can remember about it is how he tasted like cigarette smoke. 

Now that guy is drunk and sliding his hand up Dan's thigh like he thinks it's going to get him somewhere. 

Maybe a month ago it might have. But now he wants to move away from the touch, and it seems pointless to Dan to even pretend he doesn't know why. 

He evades the wandering hands and goes to get another drink. Maybe alcohol will ease the way for impending realizations about just how fargone he is. 

*

He texts Phil from his Uber home. 

_up?_

_yah. i'm a nite owl._

_me too_ Dan stares it it, then adds. _come over_

_:D :D :D_

He snorts so loudly that he can see the Uber driver glance at him in the rearview mirror. 

*

"Hi," Phil says, smiling when Dan answers the door. 

He's wearing the glasses. Dan's very glad. 

"Are you in your pajamas?" Dan asks. 

"I am. But it's alright. They're my good ones, the ones I wear to answer the door for packages if the delivery guy is cute." Phil takes shoes off by the door and follows Dan through the lounge. "It's so late. I was surprised when you texted me." 

"Yeah," Dan says, his non-committal best. "Want a drink?" 

His flat has a breakfast bar that he rarely uses. Phil slides into a stool and leans onto it, arms crossed over the surface. "Sure." 

He gets as far as pulling two glasses down from the cabinet and stops. "I don't want a drink." 

"Alright," Phil says, just as easily as before. "What do you want?"

"That's a fucking question," Dan mutters. "I like, chronically never know what I want in life." 

"That's not so unusual, is it?" Phil asks. "I don't really know what I want, either. I always thought I'd end up doing something more interesting than I am now." 

Dan turns around and leans against the counter. "A guy I work with hit on me tonight?" 

An expressed passes over Phil's face that is satisfactorily displeased. 

But Phil's a smart guy. When he does respond verbally what he says is: "And you came home and rang me?" 

Dan shrugs his shoulders, smiling with his lips pressed together. 

"You look like that bread meme when you smile like that." Phil moves around the breakfast bar and leans against it again, standing with a foot or so of space between them. "It's cute." 

"Aw, you think I'm cute?" Dan pretends to be demure. 

"I think you're a lot more than cute," Phil says.

"Do you like that I rang you instead of going home with that guy?" Dan asks. 

He's blatantly fishing. He just wants to hear it. 

Phil indulges him. "Yeah," he says. "I like it a lot." 

Phil steps in a bit. Dan steps in too, meeting him in the middle. He likes it when Phil puts his hands on Dan's waist. He likes it more when Phil tilts his head just a bit and brushes his lips over Dan. 

*

They kiss for a long time, maybe longer than Dan's ever stood kissing anyone before. 

Or maybe it just feels like that. He likes the way his lips go numb and Phil's hands end up under his shirt, resting across Dan's back on bare skin. 

"Can we go to the bedroom?" Phil eventually asks. 

Maybe he was right when he said he wasn't a patient person. 

"Yeah," Dan says. 

*

They're naked and hard, hands wandering at so much naked flesh. 

Dan pulls away long enough to reach into his bedside drawer. His fingers close over what he's looking for, and he pushes a condom into Phil's hand. "Can we? Will you?" 

"Yeah," Phil says, taking it. He kisses Dan with damp desperation now, his cock smearing stickiness over Dan's hip where it's pressing into him. 

Dan reaches down to get his fingers around it. Fuck, Phil's got a nice cock. He wanks him a few times just to hear Phil whine. 

*

The push inside is just as good. 

Dan flings an arm over Phil's shoulder and enjoys the intimacy of it as much as the pleasure. He likes the way Phil moves; their bodies as flush as can be, Phil rocking into him with thrusts that move them both together. 

He likes the way it makes the headboard tap against the wall. He likes how much it feels like what Phil wants is him, as much as the orgasm. 

Maybe he's romanticizing things. He doesn't give a fuck right now, though, because he's going to come with Phil's mouth on his and it's going to be everything just for a moment. 

*

Phil comes first and then he brings Dan off in a disarmingly gentle way, pressing kisses to Dan's cheek and jaw while his fingers tug and tug and tug until Dan's crying out and curling in on himself. 

Everything. 

* 

Phil's sleepy after. 

Dan's wide awake. 

"Insomnia, right?" Phil asks, sitting up against the headboard. 

He's tossed the condom away but he's still naked, unashamed to casually hang out with his dick out. 

Dan's a fan of that. The view is nice. 

He nods. "Yeah." 

"What do you normally do at night?" Phil asks. 

Dan shrugs. "What time is it?" 

Phil picks up his phone. "Almost three?"

"Wow," Dan says, faintly impressed with how much time they've spent between the sheets. (Above them, really.) "I listen to music. Watch tv."

"You should take up painting," Phil says. He manages a straight face for all of ten seconds before it cracks into a grin. 

Dan just rolls his eyes. He's silent for a few more beats and then says, "I wait for the sun to rise." 

"Alright, then," Phil says. "Let's do that." 

*

At four twenty seven in the morning they drag blankets and pillows out onto Dan's small balcony. Phil naps against Dan's shoulder as pink starts to tinge the sky but wakes up in time to see the full display. 

Dan's seen a lot of sunrises before. He can't really categorize them into best, worst, most beautiful. They all come down to the same concept: the ball of fire in the sky positioning itself for another stretch of futile hours. 

But this is a nice one. Maybe it's because he's so sleepy. Maybe it's because he just got laid in that fully fantastic way he can still feel when he shifts just right. Maybe he's just turning into a fucking sap. 

Maybe that's what falling for someone does to him. He's not even sure when he fell. The wind didn't seem to change all that much on his way down, but suddenly here he is. 

Or maybe he'll wake up tomorrow with more reservations. Probably not, he thinks, but his commitment issues really have more to do with not trusting his own mind than anything else, so he'll still leave room for the possibility that it'll all go wrong. 

He'll just maybe, just this time, leave room for the possibility that it might go right, as well.

*

He and his mum meet before the class this time. 

"First of all," he says, when they sit down. "Do we need to have a conversation about boundaries and you trying to play matchmaker?" 

She pouts. "But Phil's so nice." 

Dan isn't going to give her the satisfaction yet. "Maybe, but if I want to date someone, that's my business." 

"Let an old woman have her fun," she says, then her smile fades into something with more gravity to it. "It's just nice, to feel like I've got a part in your life." 

"Mum..." 

"No, listen." She cuts him off. "Maybe inviting him to lunch was a bit too far. But it's lovely to think that you might have a relationship with someone that you're not afraid for us to know." 

His heart starts to pound. He feels transported immediately, Easter Sunday sitting around the kitchen with his family. 

All the things he said. All the truths he told. 

"I think your Nana would like him too," she says, softly. 

He wants to shake his head. He wants to bolt. 

He could have been more careful with his words that day. Now he’s got a grandmother that knows all the fucked up things he went through as a teenager. 

As if she can tell, she lies her hand atop his. "You can't avoid her forever." 

Is that a challenge? Because Dan's had years to perfect his avoidance skills. 

He really wants his mum to stop talking, but she won't. 

"She loves you," Karen says. "We all love you." 

Deep breaths. "I know," he finally answers. 

"It was hard. Hearing everything. What you went through. But I know it wasn't harder for us to hear than it was for you to live through." She doesn't move her hand. "I just want you to know that we love you, and we're all sorry for the ways we failed you." 

Part of him feels betrayed. The truce, the trust, the amount he's let her into his life has all been built upon the tenuous and unspoken premise that she kept things light. 

His instinct is to tell her that she didn't fail him. He hears his therapist speaking right into his brain, and shutting the words down. 

He still says nothing. 

She sighs and squeezes his fingers once before pulling her hand away. “Alright. Enough of that.”

*

His brain is far too muddled for something that sounds as complicated as Chinese brush painting. 

"I'm doing a panda," Phil says promptly. "It'll be great."

Bryony leans over and in an exaggerated narrator voice says, "It will not be great." 

Phil sulks and looks at Dan. "You'll tell me it's great even if it's not, right?"

"Not a chance," Dan says. 

"I will." Karen smiles benevolently at Phil. "If I could lie to Daniel about his stick figure art until he was ten, then lying to you won't be an issue." 

"Thank you." Phil beams at her. 

*

Dan paints another sunrise, orange and pink and yellow over an inky black outline that ends up looking like nothing but a series of blobs. 

"Oh," Phil says, leaning in to look at it. "Is that-" 

"Yeah." Dan adds another stroke where it probably doesn't need one. He doesn't need to say anything more to confirm it's meant to be them. 

*

He hugs his mum goodbye when she has to go and holds on extra tight. 

"I'm sorry," he whispers. He's apologizing for everything and nothing. For being so fucking awkward. For not being able to communicate like a normal human being sometimes. For learning over the years, with her help and without, that sometimes being his own person means hurting other people. For not giving her enough credit and for not giving himself enough, either. For taking so long to understand that it's possible to accept that someone has made mistakes and love them anyway. 

Not all mistakes. Not every person. Not all crimes carry the same weight. Forgiveness is fluid and he's no more wrong for wanting that closeness back with some people than he is for rejecting it outright with others. 

He's learning, at least. 

*

He walks with Phil to get coffee after class. There wasn't even a discussion; time together has been something they're both embracing greedily since the weekend that came and went without Phil ever returning to his own flat. 

*

Phil still has paint on his hands. Dan wants to pick them up and nudge it off with his fingernails, but he refrains. 

"Go sit?" Phil says. "You look like you've had a long day." 

Dan's not used to there being a person who notices things like that. "Yeah," he says. Why deny it? 

He sits in quiet contemplation until Phil walks over, two coffees and a cupcake. "Do you want to talk about it?" 

Dan shakes his head. 

"Alright," Phil says, easily enough. 

*

"Hey." 

Their coffees are almost gone. The cupcake didn't survive five minutes. 

"Yeah?" Phil asks. 

There's so much for Dan to say. It's strange how he's never been shy with his voice, just careful with what he reveals using it. 

But there's one thought pulsing in his brain right now that won't go away. 

"Do you have plans this weekend?" He asks. "There's a birthday party I need to go to."


End file.
